In 1995, I worked for American Airlines and had to transfer to MCI Airport in Kansas City to keep my job. At the time, my mother was the supervisor of screening at MCI.
A woman who worked with my mother — I called her “Ten” because she was a beautiful blonde — knew I was being transferred to Kansas City. She told me about her son, whom she hadn’t heard from in months and couldn’t get in touch with. He was working in Montana last she knew.
I felt bad for Joanna (“Ten”), and to make her feel better, I said, “When I see him, I’ll tell him he’d better call home!” I’d never met or seen this kid, and didn’t even remember his name after our conversation.
I drove out to Kansas City from Rhode Island in my loaded-up Isuzu, got halfway across Missouri, and stopped for gas. As I was about to drive away, a young man came up to my window and asked if I was from Rhode Island (my license plate said so). I said yes, and he said, “My mother’s the supervisor at airport screening, do you know her?” I said, “No, my mother’s the supervisor there!”
He told me her name, and sure enough, Joanna did fill in on my mother’s days off! If I’d been standing up, I would’ve fallen over, realizing this was Joanna’s son!
I told him his mother was worried about him and he’d better call her. He explained he’d left where he was recently living to find new work, so that’s why his mother couldn’t find him.
Clearly we were meant to meet, because Joanna needed to hear from her son! My sons were little at the time, so I definitely understood her worry.
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